


Love-Sighted

by cavalcadeCrumbling



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: AU in which everyone can see something special, Greek Concepts of Love, I'd love to see it with different ships/dynamics, If you like this AU feel free to use it, Multi, The first chapter is pretty much just, me making sure everyone knows what those are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalcadeCrumbling/pseuds/cavalcadeCrumbling
Summary: All humans had a sight - an extra sense, that often manifested visually, that few others shared - and that was no different for those who'd been dragged into the Constant. Some made the situation more bearable, others caused needless insanity, and some were just plain useless.Wilson is pretty sure his falls into the last category.
Relationships: TBA - There's gonna be a lot, WX-78/Wortox (Don't Starve)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

Often, Wilson found himself jealous of what the others could see.

Wigfrid could see heat, very useful in this world, even if it forced her to retreat to the endothermic fires or stick her head into the icebox during the summer as to not overload her senses. She often would suddenly turn and stare in a direction in the other seasons, then lead them all that way, drawing them toward prey and away from monsters.

Willow, she could always see the shadows, even when completely sane, and thus could always fight them if need be. She saw them in the real world, too, she'd said, something that had interested Wilson greatly in how so, but they'd never come up with an answer.

Webber was able to see something they'd had trouble describing, but after sitting with them and talking about it, Wilson had finally realized what they saw was the ultraviolet. That, too, had been interesting, mostly scientifically, learning what exactly the spiderchild saw and crossing it with what Wilson already knew about it.

Wickerbottom saw knowledge, and she described him at one point as so bathed in it she was surprised he didn't choke, something he took as quite the compliment. Apparently, if she wanted to know something, she could also see who or what had that specific piece of information. That lead to some very surprising overheard conversations, as she asked Wolfgang to show her a certain type of stitch to sew with, or Wilson himself how to herd goats. He'd forgotten that he used to have some.

Even WX-78 saw, and what they saw was the strongest emotion of those around them, though they didn't bother to apply that knowledge at all. Wilson couldn't understand how someone who could see, for very certain, how someone was feeling, could still lack a lick of empathy. He wished he had that instead, he could use it so very well.

Instead, all Wilson saw was love. The whole spectrum of it, of course, each having a different look to it. At first, it was hard to all pick apart, and sometimes still he struggled with which was which, but once, he'd read a book detailing exactly what he saw. Love, the way the ancient Greeks tended to define it. 8 different types, that often blended into each other, and the Greeks provided him with the words for it all.

Érōs, so-called passionate love. Better described as lust, or infatuation. Superficial. Wilson saw very little of it, here, and had plenty of notes consisting of just his observations as he questioned why. He still didn't have a definite conclusion, but it was likely either something to do with their situation, or either They or the world itself dulled it. Perhaps there was little enjoyment for Them, in seeing such things.

Ludus, playful and teasing love. The love that consists of flirting, or banter between friends. One that can straddle the lines of platonicity, romance, and lust all at the very same time, requiring context and sight to be able to tell which variation it was. This one made itself known quite often, as opposed to Érōs, though it appeared to be mostly the friendly form. A bit of banter lightened all of their spirits quite a bit.

Philia, the love between friends. Loyalty, companionship. Also not always platonic, but often associated with it. This one Wilson saw the most, at least now. All of them had, at the very least, this kind of love for one another, with a few exceptions. Most notably, Maxwell, who seemed to not get much love from others at all, nor house much within himself.

Philautia, self-love, comes to mind when thinking of him. A type which one should not have too much of, yet at the same time, was just as dangerous to have too little. It wasn't an overabundance of Philautia that Maxwell had, though. Such had surprised Wilson at first, as megalomania and narcissism seemed to plague him, but instead it appeared as if he was overcompensating for his _lack_ of Philautia.

Agapé, the opposite, was a love for the entire world. Compassion, empathy, all of it provided to anyone who needed it, stranger or enemy. It was selfless, unconditional, and Wilson saw it most often within himself. Least often did he see it in WX-78, unsurprisingly, and following them was Wendy, who had dulled senses of love in general, but seemed to be too pained inside to spare many glances outward.

Storgē, though, Wendy did have in abundance, the love of the family. Familiarity and dependency ruled over it. One could be the dependent, such as the way Wendy depended on her sister, or the one depended on, like how one bonds with a pet. Or, it could be balanced, both sides depending on and being depended on by the other. He often heard camp members say they felt odd kinship with each other, or objects, and that was Storge, sometimes coming from far hidden parts of them that even they don't remember or understand. Much like Philia, it flowed through the camp with ease, and in fact even easier than the friendship love. Even if they didn't actually like one another, it seemed all of them considered every other person part of their family, now.

Pragma, sometimes referred to as committed love, but as Wilson sees it, it is more a love of practicality. Rational, realistic, it can come from a deep understanding of the other person. There is expectation, and those with it find some great value in those they love, but it is cooperative when healthy. It can be both a very deep and very undeep love, he's found. Deep if the love stems from understanding, and holds the key to compromise out of the pure love for them. Undeep if it stems from... WX-78. Their love of them all as "minions" manifests as this.

Mania, then, was the final one, and it was obsessive love. Characterized by jealousy, a need for a person instead of a want, basing one's self-esteem on another's opinion of them, and other very unhealthy things. Wilson had a stalker, once, and she had overflowed with it. It wasn't a good kind of love, and he wished he could destroy the concept all together, but he still saw it in the camp at times. Unsurprisingly, Maxwell was the perpetrator, with his lack of Philautia, and Wilson saw the sparks of it most often when he looked out into the dark.

This was all well and good, and it provided Wilson with interesting information, but interesting was all it was. What would they gain, from his sight? The most he could do was play matchmaker, or be bothered by Wickerbottom on sleeping or group arrangements.

Even if he wanted to play matchmaker, which he certainly did not, it wasn't as easy as "these two feel romantic love, now I will make them kiss"! He could barely tell if certain kinds were platonic or romantic, much less if two people actually felt it the same kind of way for one another. It would be embarrassing for all involved, to set something up between two who felt strong Philia for one another, only for one to feel it romantically and the other only in terms of friendship.

Wilson hated it. It wasn't useful, it was confusing, and while it was interesting, it wasn't scientific either. Stupid sight, why did he have to get the short end of the stick?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson finds a child, then gets a bit distracted.

Something in this swamp was in love.

Wilson had noticed that they hadn't any reeds in their chests, and while it was most likely Wickerbottom was hoarding them, it never hurt to have more. Ignoring how much it really did hurt to get more. Those were two distinct things.

The likely culprit was Merms, much like Pigmen they had a primitive consciousness, and he was well aware that Pigs could love. Pragmatically, of course, unless in reference to their king, but Pragma was still love. Still, because of the likeliness of it being a Merm, Wilson was doing his best to steer clear of the lover. Not to say that was easy. Whatever it was, it almost appeared to be following him.

He did his best to ignore it, for the most part, tugging at reeds until they broke cleanly away in the odd way that grasses tended to do here. It was curious, though. Pragma was one of the ones he found most interesting, in how it could manifest so deeply and so undeeply. He suspected, were he to somehow fall in love romantically, here, it would be mainly how his would manifest. So, of course he was curious.

What was that saying? He barely remembered things like this anymore. Curiousity... curiosity killed the cat? That sounded correct.

A rumble, and Wilson's attention snaps back fully to the ground around him, looking for the source. There, in the marsh. The surface bubbled, and Wilson quickly moved to give the tentacle wide berth, very much not wanting to get thrown around today. Or any day, really.

Now, he was closer to the source of Pragma, though. Thinking for just a moment, he decides to just walk to it. If it was planning to attack him, surely it would have done so by now? And he was so curious...

There, in those reeds. A Merm, but... it was so small. It stared up at him with blank eyes, reminding him of a good number of the women in their group. Why did ladies always look so soulless? Another question to file away for later, he supposed.

"Good day to you," he says politely, and the Merm looks a little spooked, but it still wasn't attacking him.

Instead, it turns, picking something off the ground, and shoves it into his hands. "You scale-less make this?"

Wilson turns the book he was given over in his hands, finding it signed by Wickerbottom. He really shouldn't be surprised, she was practically the only source of books, here, but it was odd this little Merm had it.

"One of us does, yes," he replies, unbothered by her rudeness. He was used to it, having interacted with Pigmen and half the members of the camp for so long. He offers it back to her, and she accepts it back, face curling into what appears to be a smile.

"You have more? Me like it, want to see more."

Wilson draws his hands back. Would it be okay to bring this little Merm back to camp? It seemed to be just a child, and still hadn't made any move to strike him. That kind of answered the question, really, actually. He found it hard to say no to children.

"Not on me, I'm afraid. If you'd like, though, I can take you to the one who makes them! Wickerbottom would be delighted to have someone new to teach."

"Have to leave swamp?"

"Well, yes. Only for a little bit, though."

The Merm seems to think on that, bringing a hand up to her chin. Her? Wilson didn't exactly have any way to tell her sex - nor would he be particularly comfortable trying to find one - but she just felt like a she to him. Probably the eyes. She'd correct him if he was wrong, he supposed.

"Okey," she says finally, giving him a nod.

"Wonderful!" He quickly scoops her up off of the ground, and she shrieks in surprise, struggling a bit until he gets a stable grip on her. "Sorry about that. I've got you now."

"Why up? Can walk! Not so little!"

Wilson chuckles, seeing his own Storgē meld with her now-dulling Pragma. What could he say, he loved kids. "I don't know about you, but I'd take any break I can get from walking. The least I could do is offer you the same."

She goes quiet, kicking her legs a little bit but otherwise stilling in his hold. After a bit of them walking, she seems to come to a conclusion: "You strange."

"If you think I'm strange!" he exclaims, laughing to himself. "Just wait until you meet the others!"

"No-oh."

She wasn't very heavy, all things considered. He's carried far more in his pockets alone, after all. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he'd instead just look at himself, note how muscular he's grown over time from all the work he's done. It didn't seem very befitting of a scientist, really, but he couldn't find it in him to complain. Less pain, less strain, he preferred that to aesthetics.

A snicker to himself. He knew someone who'd disagree with that.

The Merm shifts in his grip, and he shifts her in turn, looking down to see her having turned her face so it was into his chest. He sees his own Storgē intensify, blur his regular vision a smidge, and quietly found himself hoping this Merm girl would stay at their base. They all needed something new to lighten their moods, and he's fairly sure Webber would like her. They could be monster buddies!

Oh that would just be adorable, wouldn't it?

The trees that Woodie and Wes had planted near their base came into view, and Wilson found a bit of a spring in his step. He really was excited to bring her back to everyone. "We're almost there," he tells the Merm in his arms.

She turns so that she's looking out again, and he moves onto the path that went through the center of the camp. Now, he could see up ahead. Warly had set down his crock pot, and appeared to be passing around something. Nearby were Willow, Webber, Maxwell, Wendy, and - oh, good - Wickerbottom.

"Miss Wickerbottom!" he calls out, as he makes it in. "You have yourself a fan!"

Everyone turns to look at him, expressions varying. Maxwell looks at him with a tired expression, blinking slowly, annoyed. Webber, on the other hand, looks surprised, then delighted, though they seem to be trying to wait their turn on talking to the new girl. Wilson sets her down beside Wickerbottom, finding himself smiling a bit.

"Wicker-lady make this?" the Merm asks, holding the book out. For a second, Wickerbottom seems surprised, then touched, bringing a hand to her chest.

"Why-- I most certainly did, dear. Did you find it enjoyable?"

"Yes, you have more?"

"I do! Would you like to see them?"

Wilson smiles, leaving the two to discuss, and moves to sit with the rest of them by the fire. Warly looks up at him, then stands up and goes to the icebox for more ingredients. Willow, on the other hand, easily slots herself beside him, hitting him with her elbow. Ludus flows off her in waves, as it always does. She just loved to tease everyone.

"Brought back another kid, huh? It's a good thing none of us like you enough to let you make any more, you big dad."

"Oh hush," he replies, though he lets out a short breath of amusement. "I know you all love me."

"Really? All of us? Even Maxwell?"

"I'd like to think so," Wilson says, and he looks over to the man.

Maxwell makes a face, then waves the attention away. "You are tolerable, at times." It's a shame Willow didn't share Wilson's sight, then, as he could see clearly that Maxwell did, in fact, love him, Philia and a flash of Pragma floating around him as he speaks.

Instead, Willow gives Wilson a look of doubt.

"I'd say that's the equivalent of someone saying they're head-over-heels for me, for Maxwell," he remarks, and Willow snickers at that.

"What about WX-78? You think _they_ love you?"

"I think they love us all, in their own way."

Willow scrunches up her face. "Your idea of love is so weird."

Wilson shrugs. He never actually told anyone what he saw, finding it immasculine in the worst times and useless at best. He certainly didn't feel like it now, already feeling a bit judged. "It's a very subjective matter."

"Monsieur Wilson," Warly interrupts, and then passes a piece of silk, wrapped around something, to him.

"Pumpkin cookies!" he exclaims, delighted, already shoving one in his mouth. They weren't actually that great when it came to being filling or healthy, but... heck if they weren't just nice to eat as a treat sometimes.

The Merm girl wanders over, apparently having heard his exclamation. "Pum-kin cookie?"

Wilson finishes chewing on the one he's got, then looks over to her. "You want to try? They're pretty gourd cookies."

Willow makes a suffering sound behind him, which he pointedly ignores. Instead, he offers the silk to the Merm, and she shoves one of the cookies in her mouth with a speed to rival his own, seconds before.

Her eyes brighten, and she bounces a bit on her feet. "THIS IS THE BEST KIND OF PUM-KIN."

Warly smiles. "I really outdid myself this time, hm?"

"For sure," Wilson nods. "You can have the rest of mine, uh... What is your name?"

"Am Wurt," the Merm says, and offers him a smile, a soft bit of Storgē bubbling out from her. He finds himself smiling back, and Willow nudges him again.

"What-- oh, yes, I'm Wilson! Wilson Percival Higgsbury."

"And I'm Willow!"

"Warly, if you will."

Wurt appears to ignore them all, instead turning to look to where Webber and Wendy were whispering to one another on the log with Maxwell. "Spiderfolk?"

Webber raises their head, smile spreading across their face. "Hey! You said your name was Wurt? You'll be our friend, right? We're Webber!"

Wilson watches as Wendy stands from the log, silently offering her spot to Wurt, which the Merm takes without a care. In that moment, he feels a twinge of regret. Wendy lacked a lot of Philautia, he knew, and her giving up that seat resonated with him as an act related to that. As if she was allowing Wurt to replace her as Webber's friend in one smooth motion.

He watches as she walks away, off to do who knows what. Looking back, he sees Maxwell also looking that way, Storgē sitting in him. Maxwell turns, meets his eyes, and then looks back the way Wendy had gone.

They'd both noticed, then. Definitely wasn't something one needed an affinity toward love for to understand. Wilson was fairly sure, at least, that he didn't share a sight with Maxwell. He didn't actually know what Maxwell's sight was, but he didn't seem to react to things right for it to be his.

Maxwell stands up, walking to the Shadow Manipulator, shoulders tensed. Wilson turns to look back at Willow instead, only to see she'd moved to squat by the fire, sticking her hands inside and looking like she was trying to calm down. Warly-- Also gone, moving to pick up his crock pot and stations. Wickerbottom seemed busy too, fussing with the book Wurt had returned to her.

Wilson sighs, standing up and moving to the chests to put the reeds he'd gathered into place. It was nice seeing everyone do their own things, but being able to see love was kind of addictive, in a way. He wanted to observe, to see people interact and love one another. He wanted to participate, see that he brings those feelings out from people. Useless sight, yet it still affected him so.

"CEASE FEELING LONELY ON MY CARPET"

Ah. WX-78 has returned. He wasn't sure loneliness was what he'd call that, but sight didn't lie, and the automaton was looking right at him. Wortox hovered casually behind them, every so often attempting to put a hand on their shoulder, only to have it slapped away. The little game they played with each other.

Webber turns around from their place on the log, frowning. "Mister Wilson, why are you lonely? We're all right here!"

Wilson brings a hand up to scratch at the side of his face. Ugh, he can feel stubble. "You can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely, Webber. Though... I didn't think I was."

"DO NOT DOUBT ME, MINION"

"I'm not!" Wilson holds up his hands. WX-78 squints at him, but turns away.

"What were you even doing?" Willow asks, "you guys just left without saying anything."

Wortox giggles. "A little bit of a prank war."

Willow gasps in mock offense. "You started fires without me?"

"You have our apologies, my dear."

"I DO NOT APOLOGIZE TO THE FLESHLING"

"You have _my_ apologies, my dear."

Wilson shakes his head, watching the exchange and feeling a little bit better. WX-78's presence always came with a flurry of argument and activity. They and Wortox seemed to get along fairly well, in fact, Wortox appeared to be the only one they expressed any love besides Pragma toward. Wortox, of course, was a being of pure Ludus, shining with the playful love at all times, toward all things, but sometimes Wilson saw flickers of something else when he spoke to WX-78 in turn. It was both cute and very scary, all things considered.

He glances around at the rest of the group. Wickerbottom had raised her head, but turned back to her book after another moment of watching the situation. Webber had resumed their conversation with Wurt. Warly and his supplies had vanished, but he was probably off to the farms.

Maxwell remained by the Shadow Manipulator, though he turns and looks back at Wilson as Wilson's gaze falls on him. Wilson smiles at him politely, but he turns away. A shame, he kind of wondered what he was working on. The Shadow Manipulator didn't like Wilson very much, he swore the thing cringed at his presence, but it got along far better with Maxwell.

In all honesty, he was kind of mad about that. He wanted knowledge too, you know! Just because Maxwell called it 'magic' didn't mean he didn't respect whatever kind of science this was. Even his Science Machine challenged science as anyone else knew it, it wasn't like the Shadow Manipulator was any different.

"If you need something, I recommend anything but staring at me until I acknowledge you."

What? Oh, he was staring. Well...

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Maxwell turns around just to glare at him, and Wilson brings his hands up, chuckling. "Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering if you wanted a research partner?"

"What, exactly, makes you believe that I do?" A dash of Philia touches Maxwell, and Wilson finds a smile creeping onto his own face.

He shrugs. "I just know."

The other man takes in a breath, then lets it out somewhat shakily. "Fine, yes. I was thinking, we have the ability to create swords from the fuel, and armor, but nothing of the sorts of helmets or tools."

"Oo..." Wilson walks over, letting the knowledge the Shadow Manipulator was willing to share slide into him and start nudging him in different directions in his head. "Well... The best place to start would be looking at those swords and armor, obviously. They share the component of nightmare fuel, of course. Then, the armor, uh... papyrus, and sword..."

"A living log."

"Yes! We already know those are involved in this kind of science, so not much of a surprise. Those materials, they sound like bases, something for the fuel to cling to. The question, then, it seems, is what we could use of that sort to make, for example, a helm. Maybe..."

They remained speaking with each other about this throughout the night, even as others returned to camp and retired to their tents. Maxwell would coax the Shadow Manipulator into giving Wilson more information, and sometimes cross-check with the Codex Umbra. Wilson would throw ideas out to him and get either looks of incredulousity or looks of thought, and then hear what he thought, but he seemed fairly content to let Wilson lead on the thinking.

Such prevented Wilson from thinking too much about the fact that, over the course of that conversation, he'd seen him draw more and more Philia and Pragma out of him. Now that Wilson was laying down in his tent, trying to get at least a little bit of rest, it wouldn't let up.

He did appreciate that Maxwell was growing closer to someone in the camp, but he wasn't exactly sure if he liked that it was _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has officially become my NaNoWriMo project, which I'll be posting as written. Which means no proofreading, yay! I barely even know what I'll be doing with it, so... Enjoy, I guess.

**Author's Note:**

> "Cava, don't you have another fic you're supposed to be working on?"
> 
> Shhhhhh.


End file.
